


Beginnings

by sg_wonderland



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-06
Updated: 2011-08-06
Packaged: 2017-10-22 07:12:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/235285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sg_wonderland/pseuds/sg_wonderland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Early days, immediately following that retrieval mission, Jack and Daniel head to DC.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beginnings

“Colonel, where is Dr. Jackson?” The general waves me to a chair.

“The folks in the infirmary are using him as a pincushion, sir.”

“Excuse me?”

“Evidently, Daniel is their very first patient who’s spent any amount of time off-world. And they’ve decided to use him for a guinea pig although I believe they called him a ‘test subject.’”

“Well, I need you and Dr. Jackson to be ready to head to DC tomorrow. The President would like the two of you to brief him about the mission. The original mission.”

I wriggle a little on my seat. “Uh, not to be insubordinate, sir. But what’s to tell?”

“The president wants some assurance that he made the right decision in that we’re not only looking for weapons, but other cultures. He also seems to be a bit of a history buff. Humor him, Colonel, after all, he is the President. I’ll have my aide contact you with your flight information. And, Colonel? Please see that Dr. Jackson is dressed appropriately.”

“Yes, sir.” I think I’ve just been told they’re paying me to go to the mall. “Uh, um...” I’m not sure how to broach this subject. Fortunately, he’s a quick study.

He hands me an envelope. “The Air Force will be picking up the tab for this. After all, he never did get paid for that original translation, did he?”

“No, sir, he didn’t. Thank you, sir. What about the rest of my team?”

“Captain Carter and Teal’c weren’t on that first mission so I don’t think they’d have anything useful to add. I’m sure they’ll find something to occupy themselves while you two are gone.” I sketch a salute and proceed to rescue Daniel.

*

Daniel is clearly affronted that I’ve been designated as his fashion consultant. “I can pick out my own clothes! I’m not four.” He is scowling as he follows me onto the elevator.

“I could ask Carter to come along and help, but I figured you’d want to get to bed sometime tonight.”

We exchange a look that only guys can understand; the malls of America were built with women clearly in mind. “We could just go to Wal-Mart or something.”

“Daniel, I’m fairly certain Wal-Mart doesn’t have President-meeting clothes. No, it’s the mall, I’m afraid.” I don’t want to think about what all he needs, this could be a very long afternoon.

*

After we fortify ourselves at the food court, we find one of those one-hour optometrists. I urge Daniel to whip off his taped-up glasses to show the receptionist, but there is a method to my madness. The teen-ager takes one look at those big, blue eyes and melts, assuring him they can work him in. Less than an hour later, we’re walking back out the door, with her assurance his glasses will be ready in an hour. And, of course, they dilated his eyes, which is gonna make picking out clothes for him dead easy. He can’t see a damn thing.

It’s easy for me, any occasion that calls for fancying up, I just don the dress blues. But Daniel needs a suit, a nice suit so I steer him toward a men’s shop in the mall. Since we’re on a time constraint, he’s gonna have to settle for off the rack. Although you couldn’t tell it by the fit of his BDU’s, Daniel’s pretty much a standard size so he should be able to find something.

The clerk, an elderly lady who probably has children Daniel’s age, takes one look at his deer-in-the-headlights expression, magnified by the dilated eyes, and drags him into the suit section, muttering about suits and shirts and ties. She unnerves him by asking him to take off his bulky sweater, which is mine and it is way long on him. He stands, mortified, by the dressing room in camo pants and a T-shirt while she assesses him frankly. Whipping a dark navy suit off the rack, she pillages through the shirts before snatching one and pointing him toward a dressing room, where he scurries gratefully. She smiles at me while we’re waiting.

“Okay, it fits.”

“Come out, Daniel, and let us see.”

“Model it?” he squeaks through the door.

“Either you come out or we’re coming in.” Sylvia and I wait patiently as he drags himself out of the dressing room.

“Hm, the trousers are just a bit long, but we can just tack those up. You say he needs the suit tomorrow?” She’s already on her knees, deftly pinning the hem up.

“Yes, ma’am. We’ve got an eleven-forty-five flight.”

“Swing by here on your way and we’ll have the suit altered and pressed. My, that does look good on him, doesn’t it?” She sits back on her heels in a way old ladies are just not supposed to be able to. I have to physically resist giving her a hand as she stands.

“How about another one, same style, different color, just in case?”

“Good thinking. How about black? You can never go wrong with black.”

“Hello, remember me?” Daniel interjects snidely.

“Here, try this one on.” She hands him a black suit, just stopping short of giving him an encouraging swat to the rump. “Shirts? Grey for the black suit, white for the navy.”

“Actually, he needs just about everything.”

“Everything?”

“Bit of a snafu with his luggage. We don’t have time for them to track it down.”

The Springs is a military town, so they’ve probably heard this before. “Skin out?”

“Yes, ma’am. Skin out.”

“Boxers or briefs?”

I bite my lip just in time to prevent the snicker. “Maybe we’d better let Daniel decide that one.”

*

Besides the clothes, we pick out shoes, luggage, toiletries courtesy of the ever-helpful Sylvia who managed to find a cologne that didn’t make Daniel sneeze. And swing by the eye place and get his new glasses, which look very much like his old ones to me.

He bitches and complains but I finally get him into the salon. He vehemently refuses to allow his hair to be cut, but is finally persuaded to get it trimmed and shaped. I get the feeling there’s a lot of hair-envy when he bounces up from the stylist’s chair, his long hair falling softly back into style. And more than a few sighs of disappointment when he whips his glasses back on, smiles shyly at the stylist before tipping her.

A solid hour later, we’re making our third and final trip to the truck.

*

We finally make it to my house, where Daniel promptly takes all his assorted undergarments and dumps them in the washer. “Allergies.” He explains as he adds the allergen free detergent I’ve been forced to begin using since he broke out after just one night sleeping in the spare room. We spent the whole next day rewashing all the sheets, towels, anything that might touch his skin. I still can’t get over a guy sleeping on animal skins for a year but put him next to one hundred percent cotton and he has hives in places I don’t want to think about.

“Hey, now that I’ve got some money, I can get my own place.”

A wave of disappointment takes me by surprise. “No hurry, Daniel, you know that.” I absolutely don’t want him thinking he is at my house on suffrage. He stays on base most nights; the only reason I persuaded him to stay here tonight was because of all the things we have to do before we catch our plane.

He is, in fact, a kick to have around; he has a child’s fascination for nearly every thing. Television fascinates him, every thing on it. Sports, how-to shows, comedies, he just soaks it all up. And a couple of night ago, I caught him reading one of my John Grisham’s. I figured he’d turn his nose up at fiction, but he apparently loved it so I dug the rest of them out for him. They are currently scattered all over his on-base quarters.

One night when things were really slow, I dragged him off-base, we sat in front of the fireplace and played chess most of the night. I managed to win a couple of games, but just by the skin of my teeth. He is a slow, methodical player and that busy brain of his is usually about three moves ahead of mine, and I’m no slouch at the game myself.

*

We leave in plenty of time to swing by and pick up his suits and still make our flight. “Do you miss it?” He asks me out of the blue.

“Miss what?” I ask, glancing past him at the cloudless sky out the plane window.

“Flying the plane, being the guy ‘in charge’.” He makes air parentheses.

“It’s not a control issue.” I protest.

He laughs. “Yeah, right.”

*

If there’s one thing that constantly amazes me about Daniel, it’s his adaptability. Put him in front of a bunch of aliens and before you know it, he’s communicating. Nothing seems to faze him. I thought he’d be nervous talking with the President and the Joint Chiefs in the sit room. He didn’t even turn a hair when they started asking him questions about weapons, just kept guiding the conversation back to the people.

“Trust me,” he finally told one of the generals, “you need to know more about the people who use the weapons than the weapons themselves.” A couple of the old warhorses nod in agreement; they know that superior weapons don’t always triumph.

The President has to leave but Daniel and I spend another hour briefing the Joint Chiefs. I’m sure people wonder what a lowly Air Force colonel and a civilian consultant have to say that’s worth this much time.

*

Since we’ve got a couple of days in DC, I let Daniel decide which tourist-y thing he wants to do first. I’d have bet on the Smithsonian and although he expressed an interest in the Natural History museum, he shocked me by asking to see Arlington.

We scored a driver for our visit so it’s easy to get to the cemetery. We do the normal tourist stops; the Kennedy brothers, Tomb of the Unknown, the older parts of the cemetery. It doesn’t surprise me that Daniel spends a lot of time looking at the architecture of the graves and memorials, that kind of stuff just comes natural to him.

It’s getting dark by the time we get back to DC and our last stop of the night is the Vietnam Wall. It’s beautiful at any time but there’s just something about seeing it at night. It’s a clear, starry night, the floodlights illuminate too damned many names, most of them too damned young.

Daniel is silent as he walks the Wall, occasionally reaching out to touch a name before moving on. He still doesn’t speak as we walk. “I’m pretty sure my parents did the war protest thing,” he says suddenly.

“That right?” I have no idea what his parents were like but they would have been the right age.

“Yeah, they used to have some stuff in a trunk, you know, there was a picture of my dad getting arrested or something.” I figure there’s a reason he brought that up but he isn’t forthcoming with anything else. I patiently wait for whatever he’s thinking. “Thanks for bringing me.”

“You’re welcome, although I have to confess I’m not sure why we’re here.”

He gives me a look that I can’t interpret. “This is what it’s all about, right? A war’s a war, regardless of where you’re fighting. I just hope they don’t ever build one of these for the SGC.”

I look down the length of the wall at the thousands of names. “Me too.” I nudge him with a shoulder. “Can we get something to eat now?”

He nods, glancing back over his shoulder for one last look before we walk to the car.


End file.
